


Jason Todd and the Outlaws

by LuthienLuinwe



Category: DCU, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Dick Grayson is a Groupie, Jason Todd is a Rockstar, M/M, Rockstar AU, Sad Ending, drug mention, hookup, musician life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 17:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19978150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuthienLuinwe/pseuds/LuthienLuinwe
Summary: No high could ever compare to the rush that came from being on stage, and no experience could ever come close. Something about the stage lights blaring down, the bass so loud he could hear it thump against his body, the pyrotechnics lighting up in front of him, the rush of adrenaline and the thrill of having people scream his name... It would never get old. Not ever... Right?





	Jason Todd and the Outlaws

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stribird (timidGoddess)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timidGoddess/gifts).



> Thank you so much to crookedspoon and volavi for the beta!

No high could ever compare to the rush that came from being on stage, and no experience could ever come close. Something about the stage lights blaring down, the bass so loud he could hear it thump against his body, the pyrotechnics lighting up in front of him, the rush of adrenaline and the thrill of having people scream his name... It would never get old. Not ever.

Jason Todd and the Outlaws.

There had been a time they'd been an underground no-name band playing dive bars for free beer. Free beer had turned into under-the-table payments. Under-the-table payments had turned into a shitty van and sleeping on the floors of strangers who wanted to get laid. Shitty van had turned into a shitty record deal. Shitty record deal had turned into a better record deal had turned into opening for bands that were only slightly more well known than they were.

And now here they were, five years later, headlining their own damn tour and living out of their own damned bus and renting out entire hotels for themselves and their crew.

The screams of their fans damn near deafened him, not that he minded it one bit. There was nothing better than being wanted. Not love. Not sex. Not cocaine. Because when he was up there, guitar strapped around his shoulder, singing the songs they'd written and that people actually  _ knew _ ? Nothing else mattered. Not love. Not issues. Not the shitty band politics that always seemed to get in the way of every last damned thing.

He glanced around the arena.

Had anyone told him they'd be playing an arena when they'd started playing out of Roy's basement, he would have told them they were insane. And yet here they were. Playing a sold-out show in Gotham where it had all started.

The pit was packed to the brim with people jumping and thrashing against each other. Maybe a few of them had hopes of being on the stage one day leading their own bands.

Wasn't this how this whole thing had started?

Standing in pits and moshing until he thought he was going to die and wishing to every god there was that he could make it big one day?

For a moment, just a brief one, Jason’s eyes met a fan in the front row, separated from the stage by a barricade and a security officer. So close to this life and yet so painfully far away.

He knew this fan, though. Or at least, recognized him. He’d been at almost every damned show.  


It wasn’t fair, how stupid pretty he was. Wavy raven black hair, muscular body, tanned skin, and bright blue eyes that could probably lure a sailor to their death.

It would make good song material if he wasn’t worried the man would end up being some sort of stalker.

The man smiled when Jason made eye contact with him, holding it for longer than natural.

Just a fan, Jason told himself.

Just a fan.

Though Jason wouldn’t mind if he managed to sneak his way backstage.

“How we doin’ tonight, Gotham City?” Jason shouted out to the crowd, grinning widely when they screamed in response. “Oh no no no,” he shook his head. “You can do better than that. Let me hear you make some motherfuckin’ noise!”

* * *

Two and a half hours and three encores later, Jason made his way back to the green room, all but collapsing onto one of the couches. He glanced over at the bowl of red Skittles that had been laid out before they’d arrived. Good to know whoever ran the venue read their safety contract. Their manager had always told them to cancel the show if the bowl of red Skittles wasn’t there. Insane? Maybe. But after the stage collapse incident a year prior… Jason didn’t take many chances.

He watched as Roy kicked his legs up onto the coffee table and stared up at the ceiling, as Kory all but fell next to Jason. Artemis was still backstage, probably bitching out the poor roadie who’d brought her the wrong guitar string, and Jason didn’t doubt Biz was right beside her.

He turned to face the open door, watching as Jade flashed her backstage pass to the security guy before coming in and sitting on Roy’s lap.

Jason had made fun of Roy for taking his wife on tour with them at first. Before he’d learned that life on a tour bus was its own special hell. Crammed in bunks with nothing but a curtain for privacy, never more than a few inches away from his closest friends.  


But even friendship couldn’t handle six months of constant togetherness without tension and fights. Always ugly ones at that.

At least they had hotel rooms after shows.

It must have been nice having someone outside of the group to complain to. Not that Jason would ever admit that out loud. Never in a million years.

Artemis and Biz eventually made their way backstage, their road manager Dinah not far behind them. “You all know the drill,” Dinah spoke, leaning against the doorframe and crossing her arms.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason muttered, holding his hands up. “Don’t get arrested, don’t end up on the six o’clock news, and bus leaves at nine.”

“You got it,” Dinah nodded. “And for the love of God, please…”

“Use protection,” Roy was the one to cut her off that time. “We know, Dinah.”

“Good,” Donna nodded her approval, and Jason stretched as he stood up. It was only a little past midnight. Plenty of time to get into some trouble. Their big manager had always told them nothing good ever happened after midnight. But then again, Jason had never really cared much about being good.

“I don’t know about you all, but I’m out of here," Jason said as he grabbed his shades and headed for the door, not giving a damn that it wouldn’t be daylight for hours. He gave a curt wave as he walked out the door, not bothering to wait for the others to respond.

There was something thrilling about trying to escape a backstage area. Especially when trying his damndest to avoid their bodyguard. He could protect himself. He was pretty sure he’d proven that enough times when some psycho fans had grabbed him and refused to let go.

He threw his shades on, not that it mattered. Few other people dyed their bangs bright white, unless they were doing it to show their devotion to the band.

Who knew.  


Maybe one day they’d all look back on the trend and cringe.

Flashing lights popped in his face as he made his way outside. How they made it to the back door, he’d never know.

He lit up a cigarette and leaned against the building, taking a long drag. The post-concert high would last him a few hours at least, but it was nice to have an extra boost on top of it. Keep him grounded enough to ride the high out just a little bit longer.

He let his eyes scan the area, watching as fans tried to get past the velvet rope, security not allowing them to.

He frowned when he saw one in particular, though. Same dark hair. Same bright blue eyes.

God, Jason hoped he wasn’t some stalker after all.

And if anything, the man was pretty. Stupidly pretty.

And… He did have around eight hours to do whatever the hell he wanted.

And. Well.

What happened on tour stayed on tour. Right? Not like it mattered anyway. He wasn’t going home to anyone when this was all over.

Against his better judgement, he stomped his cigarette out before approaching the rope. Waylon would have had a damned heart attack if he saw it, Jason was sure. He listened as the fans screamed and ignored the few of them that tried to grab him by the shirt or the arm.  


He signed a few arms, the odd breast, and a handful of pictures on his way to talk to the stranger who had followed them the entire damned tour.  


“Hey,” Jason greeted once they were directly across from one another. So close he could feel the other man’s breath. He pushed his sunglasses up onto his head and crossed his arms, tilting his head to the side. “What’s your name?”

The other man blinked in surprise, as if he couldn’t believe some rockstar like Jason Todd was actually giving him the time of day. Jason watched as he quickly recovered, running a hand through his hair. “Dick.”

Jason’s eyes flashed at that. “You wanna fuckin’ repeat that?” he hissed, barely managing to keep himself on his side of the rope. He didn’t particularly care about Dinah’s ‘don’t get arrested’ rule, but he knew the second he fell over that ugly red thing, he’d be lucky to escape the crowd with his dignity intact.  


The man rolled his eyes and shot Jason a look that would have made Artemis proud. “My name’s Dick, asshole.”

Jason had to shove down a laugh that threatened to escape his lips. What man their age willingly went by Dick? Still. The man had nerve. And Jason had to admire that much. Before he knew what he was doing, he was reaching into his back pocket and shoving a piece of plastic into the man’s hand.

“714,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Gotham Royal. Jason Peters.”

Stupid? Maybe. But it wouldn’t be the first time he’d done something like this.  


Hell.

It wouldn’t be the last time he’d do something like this.

He saw a mischievous glint in Dick’s eyes and watched as a slight smirk formed on his face. “See you then.”

* * *

It was one in the morning when Jason strode in through the doors of the Gotham Royal hotel. It was so different from the places they’d stayed on their earlier tours, where the best hope they had was that the place didn’t have bed bugs. And even if they did? If it was cheap enough? They still would have considered it.

How many times had they sent emails and made calls from business centers at some Holiday Inn?

How many times had they smuggled whatever breakfast foods they could and hoped that no one caught them in the act?

And now here they were, staying in a five star hotel like it was no big deal.  


Amazing how time went by. Amazing what could happen with fame and stupid amounts of money.

He pressed the elevator up button and tapped his foot as he waited for it to arrive. The place was damn near empty, save for the occasional roadie complaining about Kory’s keyboard or Roy’s drum kit.  


From the corner of his eye he could see a member of their opening act, though Jason couldn’t remember his name to save his life.

He wondered if he’d ever get completely used to being on the other side of things. If part of him would always be that dumb kid with a wild dream spending his weekends with his friends listening to Springsteen and belting out Journey like their lives depended on it.

Who knew. Maybe they did.

He pressed his keycard against the panel and waited for the tell-tale beep before pushing it open, part of him hoping Dick would be there, the other part of him hoping he wouldn’t be.

The lights were on when he stepped inside, and Dick sat on the king-sized bed, legs crossed and arms behind his head like a pillow. “Hey.” He turned and propped himself up on his side.

“Hey,” Jason responded and got to work unlacing his combat boots.  


He only hoped Dick wasn’t a talker. He’d dealt with enough of those this tour. The last thing he needed was to hear his life's story. How he neded up getting into the scene. How he wasn't like everyone else. He'd heard enough of those stories already.  


“Need help with that?” Jason tilted his head up and watched as Dick moved from the bed and over to him.

“I got it,” Jason responded, kicking one boot off before starting on the other.  


He’d barely stood back up when Dick had him pinned against the wall. A smirk crossed Jason’s lips as he looked directly into the other man’s eyes. “Eager much?”

“What can I say?” Dick asked and went straight for Jason’s neck. Jason moaned and tilted his head back, threading his fingers through Dick’s hair. He was almost glad it hadn't started with a kiss. Kisses were too… Intimate. Formal. Kisses implied promises that neither of them could keep. “I’m a big fan.”

Dick turned to make eye contact with Jason again, and Jason didn’t dare break it. He watched as Dick’s eyes drifted toward his lips, and...

Who cared about broken promises anyway?

Jason smashed his mouth against the other man’s, flipping their positions in one fluid motion.  


There was something wrong about kissing a fan. Hooking up in a hotel room with someone whose name he’d forget before he was even on the bus. Something wrong, definitely, but thrilling all the same.  


It was easier this way. No feelings. No mixed signals. No bullshit ‘I love you’s.

He kissed Dick with all the passion he could muster, and Dick seemed more than eager to return it.  


He wasn’t sure when the clothes had started flying or when they’d ended up on the bed, Dick’s leg hooked around Jason’s waist. When kissing had become touching had become sex.

He wasn’t sure when he’d stopped worrying about the mistakes he’d made on stage or the thrill of the rush and when he’d started focusing on the sweet little sounds Dick was making beneath him, directing his entire focus on getting him to make more.

There was no better music than the sounds of a passionate partner in bed.

They lie next to each other after, though neither broke the silence that had fallen over the space.

Jason reached over to the bedside table and grabbed his pack of menthols, lighting one up. Non-smoking room or not, he didn’t care. Dinah had made her peace long ago that they wouldn’t be getting security deposits back.

He offered one to Dick, who declined politely. He knew how this worked, then. He’d stay a few more hours and sneak outside and hope to hell no one saw him coming or leaving. He wouldn’t be one to sit and talk about it or try to give his life story while Jason pretended to care.

Still. Something tugged at the back of his head. “You’ve followed us all tour,” he commented, turning to study Dick, who looked completely at ease.

Dick shrugged and sat up, carefully getting out of the bed and searching for his clothes, strewn throughout the room with no rhyme or reason to the chaos. “Like I said,” he glanced back over at Jason. “Big fan.”

Jason turned to glance at the clock. 3:34 AM. “You should…”

“Yeah,” Dick cut him off before Jason could finish the thought. Jason watched as Dick threw on his shirt, a black and royal blue tank. As he sat down to lace up his sneakers, the same blue as the tank. “Don’t worry. I know how this goes.”

And for once, Jason couldn’t find the right words to say.  


“Don’t worry,” Dick held his hands up. “No messages. No phone calls. Don’t even have your number. Hell. Block me on Twitter if you want.”

Jason nodded and ran a hand through his hair. It was better this way. No hassle. No emotions. And, god willing, no bad press. “Yeah,” he sighed and lit up another cigarette, leaning back against the headboard and taking a long drag.

“No strings,” Dick promised and headed for the door, leaning with his back against it. “Thanks for tonight,” he said, voice so soft Jason wondered if he was even meant to have heard it.

He took another drag and blew out a lungful of smoke, watching as it rose up to the ceiling. “Take care of yourself, okay?” he asked, but the door had clicked open and shut before he could finish the thought.

He sighed and rolled over to grab his phone, opening up Twitter and ignoring the hundreds of random mentions and messages he’d been sent in the past day and a half.  


Millions of followers and it was still impossible to miss the man he’d just been with. Hell. He even wore the same outfit in his profile picture.

_ ‘Are you sure you want to block @FlyingGrayson ?’ _

He shut his eyes and took a breath. It was easier this way, he told himself. No attachments. No feelings. No strings.

He opened his eyes and hit the button.


End file.
